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A man in Grand Rapids, Michigan
incredibly took out a $7000
full page ad in the paper to present the
following essay to the people of his community.
When I was a puppy, I
entertained you with my antics and made you laugh.
You called me your child, and despite a number of
chewed shoes and a couple of murdered throw pillows,
I became your best friend. Whenever I was "bad,"
you'd shake your finger at me and ask "How could
you?" -- but then you'd relent and roll me over for
a belly rub.
My housebreaking took a little longer than expected,
because you were terribly busy, but we worked on
that together. I remember those nights of nuzzling
you in bed and listening to your confidences and
secret dreams, and I believed that life could not be
any more perfect. We went for long walks and runs in
the park, car rides, stops for ice cream (I only got
the cone because "ice cream is bad for dogs" you
said), and I took long naps in the sun waiting for
you to come home at the end of the day.
Gradually, you began spending more time at work and
on your career, and more time searching for a human
mate. I waited for you patiently, comforted you
through heartbreaks and disappointments, never
chided you about bad decisions, and romped with glee
at your homecomings, and when you fell in love. She,
now your wife, is not a "dog person" - - still I
welcomed her into our home, tried to show her
affection, and obeyed her. I was happy because you
were happy.
Then the human babies came along and I shared your
excitement. I was fascinated by their pinkness, how
they smelled, and I wanted to mother them, too. Only
she and you worried that I might hurt them, and I
spent most of my time banished to another room, or
to a dog crate. Oh, how I wanted to love them, but I
became a "prisoner of love." As they began to grow,
I became their friend. They clung to my fur and
pulled themselves up on wobbly legs, poked fingers
in my eyes, investigated my ears, and gave me kisses
on my nose. I loved everything about them and their
touch -- because your touch was now so infrequent --
and I would've defended them with my life if need
be. I would sneak into their beds and listen to
their worries and secret dreams, and together we
waited for the sound of your car in the driveway.
There had been a time, when others asked you if you
had a dog, that you produced a photo of me from your
wallet and told them stories about me. These past
few years, you just answered "yes" and changed the
subject. I had gone from being "your dog" to "just a
dog ," and you resented every expenditure on my
behalf.
Now, you have a new career opportunity in another
city, and you and they will be moving to an
apartment that does not allow pets. You've made the
right decision for your "family," but there was a
time when I was your only family.
I was excited about the car ride until we arrived at
the animal shelter. It smelled of dogs and cats, of
fear, of hopelessness. You filled out the paperwork
and said "I know you will find a good home for her."
They shrugged and gave you a pained look. They
understand the realities facing a middle-aged dog,
even one with "papers." You had to pry your son's
fingers loose from my collar as he screamed "No,
Daddy! Please don't let them take my dog!" And I
worried for him, and what lessons you had just
taught him about friendship and loyalty, about love
and responsibility, and about respect for all life.
You gave me a good-bye pat on the head, avoided my
eyes, and politely refused to take my collar and
leash with you. You had a deadline to meet and now I
have one, too. After you left, the two nice ladies
said you probably knew about your upcoming move
months ago and made no attempt to find me another
good home. They shook their heads and asked, "How
could you?"
They are as attentive to us here in the shelter as
their busy schedules allow. They feed us, of course,
but I lost my appetite days ago. At first, whenever
anyone passed my pen, I rushed to the front, hoping
it was you that you had changed your mind -- that
this was all a bad dream... or I hoped it would at
least be someone who cared, anyone who might save
me.
When I realized I could not compete with the
frolicking for attention of happy puppies, oblivious
to their own fate, I retreated to a far corner and
waited. I heard her footsteps as she came for me at
the end of the day, and I padded along the aisle
after her to a separate room. A blissfully quiet
room. She placed me on the table and rubbed my ears,
and told me not to worry. My heart pounded in
anticipation of what was to come, but there was also
a sense of relief. The prisoner of love had run out
of days.
As is my nature, I was more concerned about her. The
burden which she bears weighs heavily on her, and I
know that, the same way I knew your every mood. She
gently placed a tourniquet around my foreleg as a
tear ran down her cheek. I licked her hand in the
same way I used to comfort you so many years ago.
She expertly slid the hypodermic needle into my
vein. As I felt the sting and the cool liquid
coursing through my body, I lay down sleepily,
looked into her kind eyes and murmured, "How could
you?"
Perhaps because she understood my dog speak, she
said, "I'm so sorry." She hugged me, and hurriedly
explained it was her job to make sure I went to a
better place, where I wouldn't be ignored or abused
or abandoned, or have to fend for myself -- a place
of love and light so very different from this
earthly place. And with my last bit of energy, I
tried to convey to her with a thump of my tail that
my "How could you?" was not directed at her. It was
directed at you, My Beloved Master, I was thinking
of you. I will think of you and wait for you
forever. May everyone in your life continue to show
you so much loyalty.
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